


it's only now that i see

by obsessivereader



Series: The accidental series [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Dog Tags, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Shower Sex, Steve is not shy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivereader/pseuds/obsessivereader
Summary: Maybe it's some weird acoustics of the shower area, maybe he's just attuned to Steve, but after he loops the chain over his neck and drops the tags under his shirt, his enhanced hearing picks up a small, shuddering gasp from Steve. Suddenly, he’s sixteen again, rubbing circles into Steve’s back as Steve struggles for air, he’s nearly a hundred and watching his metal hand choke the life from Steve—He heads towards the shower area, needing to reassure himself that Steve is fine.When he walks in, he’s confronted by the sight of Steve’s naked ass and back. Steve’s got one hand braced on the wall and the other hand... the other hand is somewhere in front of him, just about where his—Oh.Oh fuck.





	it's only now that i see

**Author's Note:**

> One more square crossed off my accidental bingo sheet! I'm really having way too much fun with these :D

Bucky scrubs at his wet hair with a towel as he waits for the elevator. A pleasant ache permeates the muscles of his body—courtesy of the day’s sparring session with Steve.

As he thinks about what to do with the two thick cuts of steak defrosting on the kitchen counter, his right hand reaches up to touch his dog tags. A small spurt of anxiety shoots through him when he doesn’t feel their reassuring hardness under his fingers, doesn’t feel the letters of Steve’s name stamped into metal.

It’s not altogether healthy, but those tags had become his talisman—a reminder that he’s no longer HYDRA’s, and that if he’s taken again, Steve would come for him, no matter what. Just as his tags around Steve’s neck are a symbol of Bucky’s own unspoken vow to Steve.

The exchange had happened almost by accident.

One evening, not long after he’d first come back, when he was still uncertain of himself and his place in Steve’s life, Steve had pulled his dog tags out from under his shirt and unclipped an extra set of tags from the chain. “These are yours,” he’d said, as he held them out.

Bucky stared at the scuffed metal discs with _James B Barnes_ stamped on them.

“Where did you...”

“I got them from your pack after...” Steve looked away. “After.”

A strange weight settled on his heart at the thought of Steve wearing his tags for all that time. It was a comfort to him to know that even when he’d forgotten himself, Steve still remembered him, and that, in some small way, something of his had kept vigil while Steve was in the ice.

But the person who’d worn the tags was long gone, so he folded Steve’s fingers over them. “Keep them.” Besides, he liked the thought of Steve wearing his name next to his skin.

Fist clenched almost possessively over the tags, Steve had nodded and threaded the tags back onto his chain. Then, he’d unclipped his own tags and held them out to Bucky. “It’s only fair,” he’d said.

The sound of the elevator door opening pulls Bucky back to the present and the problem of his missing tags.

He tries to think where they could be. He’d felt their distinctive shape pressing into his chest when Steve had surprised him with a submission hold while sparring. He’d ended up pinned facedown on the mat, with Steve straddling his hips. If anyone but Steve had tried that, he’d probably have broken their neck, but his body accepts Steve’s without question.

Since Bucky had better technique, it’d only taken him about half a minute to wriggle free, even though Steve was stronger and faster. He’d definitely had the tags then.

His next memory of them is when he’d taken them off before his shower. The chain tended to snag his wet hair, so he’d left them on the bench with his clothes.

The bench...

He’d been reaching out for them when Steve had called out to him, asking him to go back to the apartment first. Bucky had needled him about his love of long showers, and then he’d put on his shirt, picked up his gym bag, and left.

He turns on his heel and heads back down the corridor. They must still be there. He breathes out a sigh when he spots the dog tags almost as soon as he enters the locker room, right there on the bench where he’d left them.

Dimly, he registers the shower cutting out as he hurries over to the bench. His steps are soundless in the fleece-lined ugg boots that Clint had tossed at him a few months after he’d moved into the Tower. It’d taken some convincing for him to give up his combat boots, but after he’d tried on the uggs, and his feet had felt warm for the first time in decades, he’d never looked back.

Maybe it's some weird acoustics of the shower area, maybe he's just attuned to Steve, but after he loops the chain over his neck and drops the tags under his shirt, his enhanced hearing picks up a small, shuddering gasp from Steve. Suddenly, he’s sixteen again, rubbing circles into Steve’s back as Steve struggles for air, he’s nearly a hundred and watching his metal hand choke the life from Steve—

He heads towards the shower area, needing to reassure himself that Steve is fine.

When he walks in, he’s confronted by the sight of Steve’s naked ass and back. Steve’s got one hand braced on the wall and the other hand... the other hand is somewhere in front of him, just about where his—

Oh.

Oh fuck.

From the way Steve’s arm is moving, Bucky has a pretty good idea what that hand is doing. Steve is... Steve is very much fine.

Light plays over the muscles on Steve’s back as they shift in time with the movement of his arm.

In an abstract sort of way, Bucky’s always known Steve’s a hell of a looker, but he’s never thought of Steve in a sexual context before. Or maybe he’d just never let himself. All bets are off now, though, as his mind helpfully provides him with a highly detailed, technicolour image of what Steve’s doing.

He sees Steve’s large, calloused hand, the same hand that had been holding Bucky down barely half an hour ago, wrapped around a thick, hard cock, moving back and forth over its length. He pictures the way Steve’s cockhead would be flushed to a deep, rosy pink a shade darker than Steve’s lips, pictures it being hidden from view by Steve’s foreskin on the upstroke, only to appear again on the downstroke, wet and glistening with pre-come.

_Jesus._

Maybe there’s a reason why he’s able to picture Steve in so much detail.

His breath speeds up in time with Steve’s, the sound of Steve’s small, panting breaths amplified by the tiles of the shower stall. At the sound of another small, stifled gasp, Bucky can’t hold back the tiny sound that escapes him. He tenses up as it seems to echo loudly around them.

Steve’s rhythm falters for a split second—a split second in which Bucky’s heart turns over in his chest—before picking up again.

Bucky’s knees go a little weak. Maybe he’d imagined that brief hesitation.

That scare reminds him that he needs to go. He needs to go _right the fuck now_ and pretend he never spied on his best friend jerking off in the shower.

If he could just stop looking at Steve, he might be able to take that first step away. But when Steve’s movements speed up, and another shuddering breath escapes him, Bucky’s feet might as well be nailed to the floor.

Steve’s head tips back, and he comes with a tiny, choked-off groan—a sound that will probably feature in Bucky’s fantasies for years to come. Bucky can track each pulse of Steve’s orgasm by the way his hips rock forward, can hear the spatter of come hitting the floor. Every hair on Bucky’s body stands up as heat crawls over his skin.

With a shudder, Steve slumps forward, like the only thing holding him up is the hand that’s still braced against the wall. His head drops forward as his shoulders heave with the force of his breaths.

Steve sucks in one last deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then, he stills, and turns his head to the side, presenting Bucky with a perfect view of his profile.

Bucky takes one step back.

“Enjoy the show?” Steve asks, voice low and rough.

Jesus fuck shit hell and damnation.

Time slows to a crawl as Steve turns all the way around and looks straight at Bucky.

There’s a flush of arousal on Steve’s face that extends halfway down his chest to just about where the tags with Bucky’s name on them sit. His lips are red and swollen, like he’d been biting at them. And his eyes...

His eyes are dark and intent and _hungry_.

Jesus. _Jesus._ Desire clamps a fist around Bucky’s gut.

When that dark gaze drifts down, Bucky realizes he’s achingly hard in his sweats.

“Looks like you did.”

He can’t help it, he’d swear on his life he can’t help it, but his gaze is dragged to Steve’s cock like iron filings to a magnet.

Bucky nearly whimpers.

His imagination hadn’t really done it justice... it’s thick and long and an even rosier pink than he’d imagined. And still hard. He swallows to wet his suddenly parched throat. Looks like the serum had the same effect on both of them.

_Quit it, Barnes. Bad etiquette to ogle your best friend’s dick._

Bucky tries to pull his gaze back up, but gets distracted by a droplet of water rolling down Steve’s side. It pulls Bucky’s attention along with it, inexorable as gravity, as it makes its way down one half of the best set of legs in the whole goddamned world.

When he finally succeeds in looking up, Steve’s watching him with eyes that are heated and more than a little predatory.

“You gonna do something about that?” Steve says with a pointed look at Bucky’s erection.

Bucky’s brain must go offline, because instead of the apology he’d meant to offer, what comes out of his mouth is, “What do you suggest?”

Steve tilts his head to the side and gives Bucky a considering look. “Shower’s big enough for two.”

Bucky’s mouth hangs open for a moment before he recovers enough to close it with a click. That...

What.

Should he...?

He’s going to do it. He’s really going to do it. With hands that aren’t altogether steady, he grips the hem of his shirt and pulls it off.

When Steve licks his lips and doesn’t try to hide the fact that he likes what he sees—scars, metal arm, and all—one little fear that Bucky had been trying to ignore fades away.

“Go on,” Steve prods.

Bucky toes off his boots. Then, with Steve’s gaze resting on him like a physical weight, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls off pants, underwear, and socks in one move. Hopefully he didn’t look too ridiculous when he stopped to unhook his pants and underwear from where they’d gotten caught on his dick.

He takes one step forward. Then another. And another... until he stalls out about two feet away from Steve.

Steve’s gaze softens when he notices Bucky’s hesitation. He reaches out, hand hovering just over Bucky’s chest. “Can I?”

Bucky swallows and nods.

Slowly, carefully, Steve places his palm on Bucky’s chest.

Jesus, Steve’s hand is so hot, burning him like a brand. Steve slides his hand up over Bucky’s collarbone, up his neck until it’s cupping his jaw. A thumb strokes gently over the hinge, sending a sharp ache straight to Bucky’s chest.

It’s Steve who takes the final step to bring their bodies into contact. Bucky has to swallow the sound that’s crawling up his throat at the feel of Steve’s wet, heated skin pressed to his own.

With a last look to check that Bucky’s on board—he is oh god he is—Steve closes the distance between them and seals their lips together.

Bucky groans and parts his lips to let Steve in. Steve kisses him slow and thorough, taking his time with little licks and nips, like Bucky is something precious to be savoured.

Bucky is happy to be savoured, but after long moments of being treated with such care, he’s ready to move on to the ravishment. So he slides his hands down to Steve’s hips to pull them more firmly together, and angles his head to deepen their kiss. This earns him a groan, and Steve’s hips jerking against his own. Bucky sucks in a breath as pleasure shivers out from where their cocks are pressed together.

Steve sinks a hand into Bucky’s hair, grabs a fistful, and tilts Bucky’s head to whisper roughly in his ear, hot breath raising goosebumps all down Bucky’s back. “You like that, don’t you,” he breathes, as he grinds their hips together.

It wasn’t exactly a question, but Bucky’s helpless moan tells Steve all he needs to know.

Things get very hot, very fast then, as Steve’s kisses turn deep and possessive. Then, he pulls away and drops to his knees in front of Bucky.

“Jesus Christ on a crutch,” Bucky chokes out.

Steve watches Bucky with a look that can only be described as cocky. He drags the tip of his nose up Bucky’s cock, just... breathing on him, and it’s enough to have Bucky swallowing a groan.

“You still with me?”

“Yes,” Bucky gasps. Hell, yes. He’d placed himself into Steve’s hands the moment he’d taken off his shirt.

Without breaking eye contact, Steve takes Bucky’s cock into his mouth and fuck, if he thought Steve’s body ran hot, his mouth is a fucking inferno. Bucky’s toes curl into the cool, wet surface of the floor tiles as hot silk engulfs him all the way down to the root.

The tiny, vigilant part of his mind that never shuts off anymore continues to monitor their surroundings. Not that it would change anything even if the rest of the team came marching through the shower stalls firing arrows and bolts of electricity and repulsor blasts and whatever the fuck weaponry might be lying around.

“Steve...” he whispers, as he cups the back of Steve’s head with his hand. All he can see is the midnight blue of Steve’s eyes looking up at him.

A wet finger trails its way up up up past his balls, his perineum, heading for...

Oh fuck.

Steve watches him and waits.

Heart racing fit to burst, Bucky’s pretty sure he can’t get a word out past the tightness in his throat, so he slowly widens his stance, hoping Steve won’t miss his meaning.

Steve’s eyes get even darker, and a low, rumbling, approving sound issues from him.

Bucky can feel the vibrations of it on his cock. His brain feels like it’s about to short circuit from the overload of sensations—the possessive hand curved around his thigh, the wet suction of Steve’s mouth, the strange, transgressive pleasure of Steve’s finger stroking butterfly-soft over his hole.

He doesn’t know which way to move—backwards to chase that teasing, tantalizing finger, or forwards to get deeper into Steve’s mouth. Steve solves the dilemma for him by sinking all the way down until Bucky’s cock hits the back of his throat, pushing Bucky more firmly against his finger.

Bucky chokes out Steve’s name, and before he can pull back, he’s coming down Steve’s throat in long pulses. Steve growls as he swallows Bucky down, tongue and throat muscles working to milk every last drop of pleasure from him.

When there’s nothing left but the aftershocks that shiver up and down his spine, Steve pulls off him and rests his head against Bucky’s hip. Bucky stares down at that bent head, wheat-gold hair still spiky with water, as he tries to catch his breath, tries to process what just happened.

“You—“ Bucky manages.

Steve looks up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a self-satisfied look on his face.

No... talking isn’t what he wants to do.

Bucky tugs Steve to his feet, places both hands on Steve’s chest, and shoves. Steve staggers back into the wall of the shower stall with a surprised _oof_. Then, Bucky surges forward to kiss that stupid, smug look off Steve’s face.

When he pulls back, he can’t help but smirk. From the dazed look on Steve’s face, Bucky hasn’t lost all the tricks picked up while kissing girls in the back alleys behind dance halls. Strangely enough—or perhaps not so strange—he only ever wants to use those tricks on Steve from now on.

He presses right up against Steve, trapping Steve’s hard, leaking cock between their bodies. “My turn.”

Then, holding Steve’s gaze, he drops to his knees. Steve breathes out Bucky’s name on a shaky exhale as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear. It’s soft and reverent, and goes a long way towards settling Bucky’s nerves.

He looks up at Steve from under his lashes, and gives in to the little demon perched on his shoulder. “I’ve never done this before,” he says, because Steve’s always been a bossy little shit, “so you’re gonna have to tell me what to do.”

 _“Fuck.”_ Steve’s cock gives a little twitch as his hand tightens spasmodically on the back of Bucky’s neck.

Clearly, Bucky’s inexperience is not going to be a drawback.

 

*

 

Bucky wakes to the sensation of fingers carding through his hair. He smiles into his pillow, enjoying the way his scalp tingles as Steve gently works free a tangled knot.

He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so warm and safe and contented. If he were a cat, he’d be purring as loud as one of Steve’s obnoxiously overpowered motorbikes. It’s too bad the serum was so effective at repairing his body, because he’d like to wear Steve’s marks on his skin for more than a few hours, feel the sweet ache in his muscles from a whole new kind of workout.

He turns over to find Steve propped up on his elbow, watching him with a soft look in his eyes. The pale gold of his hair glows like a halo in the diffuse light filtering through the curtains. No one should look that disgustingly angelic while lying amidst rucked up sheets and tangled blankets and scattered clothes.

“Were you watching me sleep?” he asks, through a throat scratchy with sleep. “That’s kinda creepy, Rogers.” It’s a lie, of course, Bucky doesn’t mind in the least.

“I thought you died, Buck. I get to be creepy if I want to.”

Because they are who they are, Steve sounds unperturbed when he says it, but Bucky has seen the pain that sometimes lurks in Steve’s eyes when he thinks Bucky isn’t watching.

And because they are who they are, Bucky keeps his tone light when he says “So does this mean we’re dating now?”

Steve shrugs. “That’s up to you.”

“Don’t you get a say?”

Steve holds his gaze, steady and sure. “My answer is yes. Always has, always will be.”

“Even before—?”

“Even before.”

“All this time,” Bucky says, feeling as though the very foundations of his life had shifted two inches to the left, “and I had no fucking clue.” He shakes his head. “And people think you can’t lie worth a damn.”

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, just watches him, careful and patient.

Was this where they were headed all along? Or—if they’d survived the war—would they have lived the life proscribed by their time and gotten married; Steve to Carter, and him to a nice young lady that’d make his ma proud?

Bucky doesn’t know... and he isn’t about to waste any time thinking about it. He’s long since learned not to play the ‘what if’ game if he wants any hope of preserving his sanity.

All Bucky knows is that he doesn’t want to go back to being just friends, and he’s pretty damned sure he never will. “Well,” he says. “I guess we’re dating.”

He wraps his hand around Steve’s dog tags, pulls him close, and kisses the smile off his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr :) [yetanotherobsessivereader](http://yetanotherobsessivereader.tumblr.com/)


End file.
